


Wicked Eyes, Wicked Grace

by Ambazaar



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Misfits (TV 2009), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Finally Giving In To Feelings, Floor Sex, Friendship/Love, Hes Pretty Swell, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Im Bad At Love Scenes, Love Confessions, One Shot, Seriously people, Sex, Teasing, Why Arent There More RPF With Iwan Rheon, also, youre welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 09:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambazaar/pseuds/Ambazaar
Summary: When two best friends can no longer hold back the feelings they have for one another.





	Wicked Eyes, Wicked Grace

He is staring at you with those big, deep ocean eyes. You can't find any other place to look except into those eyes. He wants you to answer his question, but the word you are looking for feels strange at the back of your throat. You've forgotten how to speak. Even as you part your lips, only air escapes past them.

What has he done to you?

You've resisted him well enough until now. About a year ago, you could have easily pushed aside the fluttering inside your chest and turned the other way - not because you wanted to, but because you felt you _had_ to. You’d been in a serious relationship, after all.

Several summers back when you and Iwan had first met, despite being in a relationship with a decently attractive guy, you’d felt awestruck at just how gorgeous he was – and his accent . . . The two of you had spent most of the night drinking and talking even after everyone else had gone home or to bed. It seemed like so long ago. You were young then. You both were. After all this time, you know you're not a child any more. And he is no longer a boy.

You feel the intensity in your heartbeat grow stronger. You feel as if all the warmth in your body has gone up to your cheeks.

You can barely breath.

Moving away from his position on the floor in front of the tv and toward you on the couch, he rests his hand on your knee and you are so conscious of the weight it sends a warm shiver up your spine. He leans in close and you can slightly feel the hot air from his nostrils brush against your face.

He asks you again.

The question had always been simple before. You could have ignored or denied it without hesitation. A simple laugh and an indifferent gaze, and all would have gone as it normally did. The question is different this time. Not at all what you were expecting. And it makes you uncomfortable. He has never made you uncomfortable before. He makes you feel like your insides are made of spring, but your mouth is a desert. You can't remember the last time you've blinked.

_“_ _You love me, don't you?_ _”_

A simple laugh. An indifferent gaze.

_“_ _You wish,_ _”_ you would have said. Not the truth. Never the truth, because you _do_ love him. You've always loved him. It's easy to deny, because for the longest time you thought maybe he was just blind to your feelings due to your close friendship. It’s easy because it has to be, but often it hurts. Your heart aches for him most days. You don't know what the purpose of his questions are, but you hope that he asks because, deep down, he may love you as well. You had been looking forward to the question this time. You always seem to have something clever to say. He always praises you for being so clever.

This time he's smiling at you, that crooked smile you've always liked, and he knows that this time he's won. This time he's got you caught in his trap, because this time the question has changed.

You don’t comprehend how close he is until his fingers on the edge of your knee press tighter against your skin. He parts your leg from the other one and you try so hard not to think about what he's doing. His touch feels different. You've hugged, kissed, danced, you’ve even slept in the same bed before. There has always been contact between you, but in this moment it's incomparable. His touch feels like fire. He starts a slow trail of exhausting heat up your leg, as painfully slow as the rate of your breaths. Your eyes grow wider.

“ _Iwan_ …” you finally exhale. Your voice is frail, but it's all you can say. He ignores the heat in your face. He ignores the pleading in your eyes. He's on his knees in front of you, his other hand caressing the inside of your thigh, fingers slowly sliding up into your shorts. You think you're going to pass out.

“Do you _want_ me?” he asks for the third time, his voice deep and quiet, his accent potent and thick. You've forgotten how to use your words. You want to shake your head, but it conflicts with the truth, so you can't bring yourself to do it.

Those crystal eyes are digging razors into your own when you don't answer him. He looks frustrated. Both of his hands slide up against your thighs to push them apart. He's no longer staring at you. He's staring right at the center where your legs meet, and you feel as if you're going to die.

“Because I want you,” he exhales slowly. Another wave of heat flows through your body. “I've wanted you for so long. I'm tired of waiting.”

He moves closer, dipping his head lower. You freeze. You can't look at him, you just focus on the wall straight across from you. His mouth touches your knee and you inhale in sudden surprise. You feel his hand sliding your shirt up and lips are brushing against your upper thigh and then your stomach. His kiss is lightning on your skin, sending shocks through your entire body every time it touches you. The scrape of his stubble against your waist feels like a steel brush. Its irritating at first, then you can't feel anything at all, like you've gone numb. But the moisture of his warm breath - it's all you can focus on.

Then his fingers are unbuttoning your shorts and pulling the zipper down so agonizingly slow your breath is gone and your heart seems to have stopped. His hair rubs against your chest, sticking to your shirt like static; he smells like rain.

“Iwan.” You exhale, sharply. You must close your eyes. You close them tightly, so tightly you hope it will trap all these fluttering waves of feverish desire inside your body.

He sits up again and his hands reach around your waist to tug your shorts out from under you, then down your legs. He's staring into your wide, hazy eyes and then you realize, despite the look of frailty and hesitation in your face, that he has no intention of stopping. The playful look in his eyes is gone now.

The deep pools of his irises are filled with hunger. Dark determined hunger that only intensifies after he's flung your clothing away. He sits straight, moving so close to you. He’s unbuttoning his own shirt, slowly, staring directly into your eyes. You want to look away, but you can't at first, then your gaze drifts over his body, pale and fit. You unconsciously sigh while your eyes are swimming over his form. Now you want to keep looking, but his hands go farther down and you’re suddenly aware that he's undoing his belt - your gaze shoots back up to his.

Then he grabs your hand and presses it against his abdomen. When you feel his skin on your palm, you can't help but gasp at the warmth of his body. He feels like a furnace, radiating heat into your hand, up your arm, and straight to your heart. He moves his face close to yours and tucks your fingers just barely past the band of his waist. Your mouth is hung open, like you want to say something - anything - but you can't get anything out except breaths, which come in heavy and escape in shuddering sighs. Your sitting there, not knowing what to do while his hands travel up your arms and down your sides. They grab a hold of your waist and he pulls you to the edge of the couch. You're shaking. He smiles.

He runs one hand down your left leg, his nails digging into your skin, the other tracing the muscles in your stomach and sliding fingers up to your chest, making your skin twitch at the delicate touches. He finally releases your gaze and sinks his lips on the skin in between your neck and shoulder. He's biting and licking and kissing, tasting you as he moves his lips over your collarbone, your neck, your ear, your chin and then you can't take it anymore and you turn your face to parallel his and your lips brush together just slightly.

He moves back, staring at you in silence. His clear-sky eyes are darting back and forth between yours while he tries to calm the rate of his heart. You can feel it beating even by the low placement of your palm. It's as fast as yours, if yours is still working; you can't tell anymore. He looks down at your lips. You do the same. He leans an inch closer then stops and his hands are moving to your waist again. You lean an inch closer then stop and your heart is pumping so critically you're sure he can feel it in the air between the two of you. He is nearly pressed against you. Your noses touch. You can't feel his breath on your face anymore - he's holding it. Suddenly you realize that maybe he's really as hesitant as you are.

“Do you want me?” he asked a final time, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” you reply as equally delicate.

He wraps a hand behind your head and pulls your face to his, lips clashing against yours. His fingers are threading through your hair, tugging at the roots and you moan against his lips. His tongue enters your mouth and slides against your teeth. When he moans you can feel it rumble through your own throat. You run your hand along his abdomen, gripping his shoulder, snaking fingers into his thick, wavy hair, your thumb running along his stubble covered jawline.

The kiss pours gasoline in the fire within your chest. Your heart is beating so hard you can feel the rhythm in your ears. A part of you cannot fathom that this is actually happening. You've imagined it many times. You've daydreamed. But never did you think it would happen, yet here you both are.

Iwan pulls back to catch his breath. His hands are on either side of your face, holding you still so he can stare into your eyes. But, you need his kiss again. You cannot wait. Too impatient.

Suddenly he pulls you straight off the couch and onto his lap with your legs parted on either side of his hips. His lips are on you again in seconds, hard and passionate. You crave more. You have both wanted this for so long. You’ve both stolen so many glances, touches, even one or two drunken kisses only one would remember in the morning . . . You need more. As your lips collide, your hand finds its way down his chest to his pants and you go to work on the buttons and zipper.

The moment you touch him, his lips fall dead against yours. His mouth hangs agape while you stroke him. He presses his forehead against your collarbone, his eyes shut tightly. You won't stand for it. You force his face up with a finger under his chin and look him directly into his sapphire eyes as you guide him inside you.

You feel your insides stretch as he fills you. There's no pain, only the flame in your stomach that sparks with desire. Your lips are parted and again you feel yourself shaking. You press your forehead against his, your hands cupping his face and his wrap your behind, forcing you to rock on top of him. You find his mouth with yours again. He bites down on your lower lip. You force his teeth apart with your tongue all while your body moves to the rhythm he has set, slow and careful. But the longer you are in this position the faster your body rocks and the harder your lips press together as if battling for dominance.

His hands are at your sides, pushing up your shirt. He parts from you to lift the fabric above your head and you fling it somewhere in the corner, then immediately you're at each other’s lips again. You blindly try to force his shirt completely off, not breaking away from his lips.

Your hands fall down his arms with the fabric, you can feel his muscles clench under your touch until his shirt falls off his wrists. He wraps his arms around your waist and the middle of you back and holds you as tightly pressed to him as he can, his face buried in the crook of your neck while you ride him.

The naked contact is driving you insane. He is driving you insane. He moves his mouth down your face, brushing past your neck, and then at your collarbone. His teeth scrape against your skin. God, you love it. Your breathing is so heavy and you're moaning is louder than you want it to be, but you can't help it.

He is holding you so tightly, his hips rolling harshly into yours now, you don't know where you end, and he begins. He bites down hard on you neck with his sharp canine teeth, you want to cry out but the force of his pelvis grinding against yours has left you breathless. He yanks at the roots of your hair, bending your head back so he can taste the skin under your chin. You're smiling, but he can't see. You close your eyes as this white-hot tingling starts to build below, between your legs, but not as fast as you'd like. Your fingers snake into his dark, wavy hair and you tug hard, pulling his head away, and clamp your lips down on his.

Strands of your hair have fallen from the messy bun you put it up in from his harsh tugging and they now fall over his face as you kiss him. They flow back and forth from your heavy breathing. His voice starts to escape violently past his lips, you feel the moans from his throat against your mouth and it sends tingling through your body to your core, helping you reach that peak you so desperately crave. Your bodies are clung together with sweat but neither of you notice. All you can focus on is trying to climb back down from where your body is taking you; you throw your head back and say his name. That's all he needs to join you in this wave of ecstasy. You forget how to breath. You stop moving, but he grabs your hips and helps you ride out your orgasm, fitting his head below your chin, pressing his lips between your breasts.

When he stops, you stop, then you can feel your heart beat for the first time in forever, it seems. Loud and violent. Or is that his? You're both gasping for air. When you've had your fill, you bring your face back down and you kiss him. He kisses you back, but not like before. He kisses you once, then twice, then again, all slow and gentle. He's looking at you, searching your face for any sign of disappointment or regret. You look at him, but you're smiling.

“You love me, don't you?” you ask.

He returns your smile, reaching for the side of your face, his fingertips slipping into your hair. He kisses you again and rests his forehead against yours.

“Always,” he says. He pulls back and looks you in the eyes, his smile gone.

“ _Always_.”


End file.
